The apartment was cheap, but not suspiciously so, especially given the relatively decrepit state of it. It was a 1 bedroom affair, the building itself constructed at some point before the Great Depression, and it certainly showed its age. The bathroom was prone to mold, the windows let in a draft even when closed, and the fact that it was up 6 flights of stairs in a building where the elevator seemed perpetually out of order certainly didn’t help. However, beyond these usual allowances made for an affordable apartment in a city such as mine, there were no outward signs that anything wrong with the place. There were never any strange noises, unusual cold spots in the center of rooms, no eerie lights. For all intents and purposes, the apartment appeared utterly mundane.
It took me a frankly embarrassing amount of time to notice the door. 7 months in fact. I’ve never been much of a night owl, and on the rare occasions when I did have reason to be up in the wee hours my time was generally spent in someone else’s bedroom.
At first, when I noticed the door, I assumed that I was hallucinating. I was, after all, in a fairly inebriated state, having just returned from a rather pleasant evening of laughter and debauchery. I already had experienced considerable difficulty in extricating my key from my apartment’s lock, so I figured it was more likely that something had gone wrong with my perception rather than the unlikely scenario that a wood paneled door had suddenly materialized in my living room where previously there had only been wall.
It was old fashioned looking, with a shiny brass knob and wood the color of old leather. I shook my head for a moment and blinked, squinting at the object. The door was still there. I rubbed my eyes and closed them, counting down from 10. When I’d finished, I opened my eyes again. The door was still there. I’m not exactly sure what I thought counting down from 10 was supposed to accomplish. Beyond one mercifully brief experience with salvia at a very bad party, I’d never experienced hallucinations before, so I was sort of going off of what I’d seen in movies and TV shows.
There was something intensely unnerving about the door. It emanated a feeling of primal wrongness, I instinctually knew that I was gazing at something totally in violation of the natural order. It took a lot of willpower to do what I did next.
Having exhausted all other apparent options to my disorganized mind, I moved on to the next logical stage of inquiry; I tried to open it. The doorknob was cold to the touch, arctic even. It felt like touching the inside of a freezer. A shiver ran down my back, though I can’t be sure in retrospect if it was entirely from the temperature. I tried to turn the knob. It didn’t budge.
An immense sigh of relief escaped my lungs, releasing a breath that I didn’t know I was holding in. Trying to think of what else I could do, I pulled out my phone and snapped a quick photo of the thing, sending it to my landlord, with a caption somewhere along the lines of “wtf is this dude, y is there a new door???”
Nodding sagely to myself, as if I had succeeded in doing anything of note, I stumbled my way into my bedroom and locked the door before falling into blissful slumber.
I awoke to the incessant screeching of my alarm clock loudly informing me that it was 7 o’ clock, about 6 hours from when I had fallen asleep. I slammed my fist against “off” button and rubbed the sleep from my eyes with my other hand. In following with my usual morning routine, I then pulled out my phone and checked through my notifications.
Alongside the usual torrent of internet pseudo-acquaintances posting pictures of their brunches and whatnot was a text message from my landlord. “What are you talking about Christina”, it read, “is this photoshop or something?”
At first, I didn’t understand what he was referring to, but when the rusted gears of my sleepy (and hungover) brain finally started turning, I immediately jumped out of bed and scuttled over to the spot where the door had been just 6 hours prior. I did so with the intent of recording a video to further prove its existence to my skeptical landlord… but I was greeted with nothing but wall.
I texted my landlord an apology, lying and saying it was just a poorly thought out prank. Then I popped into my car and drove down to the local electronics store to purchase a camera from the grumpy underpaid college student behind the register.
Making my way over to the photography section, I searched a long while for the option that simultaneously fit my budget and the requirements for my investigation. Eventually, I found just the item.
It was a trailcam, the sort of thing hunters and geriatrics with too many acres of land and not enough hobbies use to observe wildlife. It had an SD card with enough space for several hours of blurry, black and white nightvision video, and most importantly it was cheap. I paid for my prize with the surly cashier and made my way happily back to my apartment.
I set it up securely in front of where the door had previously appeared, and, feeling like a genius, went about the rest of my day. I fell asleep that night secure in the knowledge that by morning I would have proof of what I had seen the night before.
The next morning, I rushed over excitedly to my living room, feeling like a child on Christmas morning. My giddy excitement died as I stepped into the living room, noticing the complete lack of the trailcam. Old Saint Nick appeared to have shit in my stocking.
I made my way back to the electronics store, forced once again into interacting with the student behind the register for whom my very existence seemed to be an inconvenience. Upon noticing my arrival, he sighed heavily. “Can I help you ma’am?” he said, emphasizing the last word with the same inflection one might say intestinal parasite.
“I’m looking for a cheap camera that will stream video directly to my computer.” I said, trying my best to avoid mimicking the man’s petulant tone.
Shrugging his shoulders and releasing another drawn out sigh, the cashier shuffled his way over to the photography section and picked out a small camera, rather similar to the last one I purchased, but approximately twice as much in terms of cost. “Do you have anything cheaper?” I asked, trying my best to sound polite.
“No.” declared the cashier, with all the compassion of an exterminator crushing a cockroach beneath a steel toed boot.
I ended up paying the exorbitant price on my already abused credit card, and grumpily stalked back to the apartment to set up the new equipment, knowing I wouldn’t get to see it after the night was over.
Nevertheless, I had to know how the door got there, and I needed to have irrefutable evidence.
The process to set up the new camera was a bit more involved than the last. There was all manner of fiddling about with connecting the device to my WiFi network and installing some new software to my computer, but by the time it was over it successfully uploaded footage directly to my hard drive where I could watch it at my leisure.
I went to bed that night wondering what I would do with the footage after I acquired it. After all, I couldn’t really go to the police with it, could I? Excuse me officer, I imagined myself saying, but a mysterious door appears in my apartment at night, and I was wondering if you could send someone around to take a look? I’d end up institutionalized. Similarly, it’s not like I could go to the newspapers either. I live in a big city, and the reporters have more important fish to fry than transient doors.
At some point while I pondered my options, I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew I was awakened by the banshee cries of my alarm clock, angrily informing me that it was once again 7 o’ clock.
I jumped out of bed, excitedly moving over to my computer to check the footage, finding that there was about 5 hours of video. I had turned on the camera at around 10 o’ clock PM, so that meant whatever happened to the camera occurred at about 3 AM.
I set the video to fast forward and watched it carefully. The first 2 hours or so showed nothing, just the regular blank wall. At exactly 12 o’ clock, however, static engulfed the screen, and suddenly the old wooden door simply appeared, as if it had always been there. I rewound the footage and played it at normal speed, trying to discern anything that would show how the door suddenly manifested in the wall of my apartment, but the static was far too heavy to tell. The video simply got incredibly distorted for around 10 seconds, and suddenly the static dissipated and there was the door.
Even on video, just looking at it gave me the chills. That sense of complete and utter wrongness came through even from the screen. I shivered slightly and set the video on fast forward yet again. There was no change in the door for nearly 3 hours, but as the video crept closer and closer to the end, I switched it back to normal speed with about a minute to spare.
As I watched, the door began to slowly open. There was no microphone built into the camera, but I could imagine the ancient hinges creaking. I could feel my palms begin to sweat as I stared, transfixed. I glanced at the time remaining on the video, it was only around 30 seconds.
As the video progressed onwards, the door eventually swung fully open, revealing a black, yawning void beyond it. Static began to gather at the corners of the screen, increasing in intensity as I vaguely discerned something moving in the darkness. The quality was rapidly degrading, and I couldn’t tell any specifics, but it moved in an almost spider-like manner, skittery and deeply unnerving. It seemed just about to come into view when the footage fully dissolved into static and the video ended abruptly.
I leaned back in my chair, contemplating my next move. While the video had certainly convinced me that I wasn’t just going crazy, I knew that it wouldn’t exactly convince the average person. I could easily have added in the static with editing, and the vague movement behind the door could just be computer generated effects or some sort of puppet. After a few minutes of pondering, I came up with an idea.
-–
“I’m sorry, what?” exclaimed Lilith, who was trying hard not to choke on her iced coffee.
“A door. It appears in my apartment at exactly midnight. I have it on video”, I replied, sliding my phone across the table of the coffee shop.
I first met Lilith in college, where we shared a course on the history of Gothic literature. She was a perfect picture of the stereotypical goth, with pierced septum, dyed black hair, pentacle earrings, and a wardrobe whose diversity of color could charitably be compared to that of a raven. We hadn’t spoken in a long time, but I figured if there was anyone I should contact about this sort of thing, it would be her.
I’d condensed the 5 hours of footage down to a few minutes with the help of a free online video editor, and watched in slight amusement as Lilith’s brow furrowed, her eyes glued to the screen. After the video ended, she seemed utterly amazed.
“Any thoughts?” I asked, pulling back my phone.
“This is some sort of joke, right? You’re screwing with me?” she asked, utterly bewildered by what I had just shown her.
“No joke. No screwing around. I figured you’d be the one to ask about this, because of the whole, you know…” I said, gesturing at the leviathan cross emblazoned on her black t-shirt.
Lilith rolled her eyes at me and fidgeted nervously with one of her bracelets. “I’m not sure Christina, this seems a little bit outside of my pay grade. I don’t really know what you expect me to do.”
“I just need a witness of some kind. What I’ve got here isn’t really enough to prove anything on its own, but if someone else sees it that might lend me a bit of credibility. If some random chick goes to the news complaining about a mysterious door appearing in her living room at midnight that’s nothing, but if I get a witness then they might have to listen to me. Plus, I figured maybe you could, I don’t know, set up some form of protective circle or sigil or something.” As soon as the last words left my lips, I felt like a moron, but Lilith actually seemed to perk up a little bit.
“I mean, I guess that makes sense. How about tonight? I can come over at about 11 o’ clock so we have a little bit of time to get ready”, she said, a tinge of excitement in her voice.
“Sound’s like a plan then, I’ll text you my address. I really appreciate you doing this for me.” We got up from the booth, exchanged hugs, and went our separate ways. I was skeptical about how much good Lilith’s “magickal” expertise would do with regard to the unearthly door, but I had mainly mentioned it to get her interested.
I wish I hadn’t.
-–
About 12 hours later, I heard a knock at the door (my front door, in this case, not the impossible one). I peeked through the peephole, saw it was Lilith, and I ushered her inside. She had brought with her a black leather bag, bulging with various books, candles, jars, and other occult accoutrements.
“That’s a lot of stuff”, I commented, gesturing towards the bag, “are you sure you’ll need all of it?”
She shrugged. “I figured it’s better to be safe than sorry. I’d rather be overprepared than come up short.”
“Seems reasonable.”
I showed her the spot of the blank wall where the door appears and she began setting up candles and incense, drawing strange signs with chalk, and pouring salt in a semi-circle in front of where the door would be. As she worked, she occasionally read out loud from some cheap paperbacks with titles like “The Witch’s Bible” and “The Unquiet Dead: A Field Guide to the Afterlife”.
To be entirely honest it was incredibly underwhelming. I didn’t feel any “mystical energies” or unseen vistas of space and time yawning before me. There was just a goth screwing around with some candles while reciting mangled Latin out of books she got for 4.99 apiece at a charity shop.
Nevertheless, I let Lilith get on with her business and sat back drinking some cheap beer. After about 45 minutes she seemed satisfied. The floor and walls were covered with crude sigils done in white chalk, and the whole room smelt of incense and scented candles. I checked my watch, seeing it was 11:48.
I offered Lilith a drink but she declined, instead just taking a seat and fidgeting a bit with her jewelry. We talked for a while about what the door could be, where it came from, that sort of thing. Lilith seemed convinced it was must be the restless spirit of a former tenant, but I was a bit skeptical. While at this point I could no longer honestly say I didn’t believe in the supernatural, this didn’t necessarily strike me as some sort of haunting.
“I don’t think it’s a ghost”, I said, taking a sip from my near empty can, “it strikes me as something further beyond our realm of experience than that. Something, I don’t know, alien somehow. I mean it changes reality itself doesn’t it? It transmutes a wall to a door, and let me tell you that door was real wood and the knob was real metal. Aren’t ghosts supposed to be intangible or something?”
Lilith seemed like she was about to say something before she paused, a weird look crossing her face. “Christina, what time is it?” she whispered.
I checked my watch, the digital face reading out 12:07. I turned to see the door. It had been there for 7 minutes and we hadn’t even noticed its arrival. Something about us not having realized it was there bothered me far more than its materialization. Was it possible that I’d passed by it in the apartment before and just never noticed it? I’d previously assumed that I’d simply always been asleep or out of the apartment when it materialized, but now I wasn’t so sure.
Lilith had turned to look at it too, after a moment saying “It’s like it’s always been there.”
The next 3 hours passed slowly, painfully. We snapped plenty of pictures of the door at every conceivable angle on our respective phones, videos too, and decided that after it disappeared again we should take footage of the bare wall for contrast. Lilith and I chatted a bit, but it was hard to continue conversations for long. Now that we had noticed it, we could feel the wrongness emanating out from the door, as if we were being watched by something just out of sight.
I don’t know if there is such a thing as true evil, some sort of absolute moral right and wrong on a spiritual level. But being near that door, I felt like I was bearing witness to an atrocity against reality itself. We spent the last 2 hours of observation in nearly complete silence. It seemed like the longer we were cognizant of the door, the worse the feeling of discomfort got. If you’ve ever been on a roller coaster, you’ll be familiar with the feeling of going up the track towards a long drop, the tension in your very blood as you brace yourself for the fall to come. As we sat there, I felt something similar.
I almost wanted to call the whole thing off, just have Lilith and I go to a 24 hour fast food place or something and call it a night. But I had to know.
Unlike with the door’s appearance, we noticed when it started to open. We sat there, paralyzed with fear and excitement as it slowly started to creak open, the worn hinges squealing just as I thought they would. The room grew significantly colder, until we were both shivering intensely. Behind the door was void, absolutely void. It was black as the depths of the ocean and emanated pure dread. The smell of incense and scented candles seemed to dissipate, replaced with a vague stench like rotting seaweed.
Finally, the entrance was swung fully open, and we sat there, staring blankly into it. We didn’t even try to pull out our phones to record what we saw. The thought to do so didn’t cross my mind until well after.
I could see something start to move in the darkness beyond, some sort of motion, spidery, skittering. It was coming towards us. I caught a vague glimpse of a long, thin limb reaching out from the door, coming towards us, grasping blindly from out of the dark, and then-
I felt the sun shining on my face, my entire body sore.
I opened my eyes to find myself lying on the ground, outside. There were trees overhead, but the foliage wasn’t dense enough to block out the light which had awoken me. All things being equal, I would have preferred my alarm clock.
I stood up, painfully, taking stock of my surroundings. I was in a park, one which I had been to before, located a couple miles from my apartment. I looked for my phone, but couldn’t find it. I began to stumble my way back home, trying my best to ignore my aching muscles. I called out for Lilith a couple times, but was met only with silence. She was gone.
As I limped my way along, a passing jogger called out “Nice tattoo”. Confused, I looked down at my arm.
Burned into my flesh in white letters, as if through frostbite, were the words “BRING MORE”.